The Jackdaw (43 page)

Once the scene had played out he moved onto the next victim – Georgina Vaughan, young and attractive with long, wavy, dark brown hair that reminded him of Anna’s. Again The Jackdaw circled her, preaching into the camera, broadcasting his special brand of hatred to the ever-increasing audience of eager participants – detailing her crimes as she protested her innocence.

‘From a CEO to a project manager,’ Sean spoke quietly out loud. ‘Why her? Was she an easy target, or the
real
reason for your envy and revenge? Was she your lover, or did she turn you down? And why … why film it differently from the first victim?’ He watched as The Jackdaw turned on her, using his knife to forever brand her on the chest with the sign of the dollar, ignoring her screams as he cut deep enough to hit bone. ‘Bastard,’ Sean muttered, but still he watched every second and listened to every word, until the screen went blank.

Without allowing himself any respite he loaded the next Your View video, showing Jeremy Goldsboro taped to the old wooden chair, hooded and gagged as the masked man lectured into the camera in his electronic voice, the usual accusations and promise of recriminations as the camera continued to film them – torturer and victim, side by side. Sean clicked the pause icon and stared at the screen, his eyes narrowing with concentration.

Why did you leave the hood over his head? Was it really so he couldn’t see, or was it to stop us seeing? Are you trying to hide something from me?

He un-paused the footage and continued to watch as The Jackdaw took his victim’s little finger between the blades of the pruners and slowly cut through flesh and bone, Goldsboro’s cries of agony and terror making him shiver. Eventually the cries died down and the masked face of Goldsboro’s torturer grew larger on the screen as he approached the camera, holding the severed finger up for the world to see, boasting that he had been merciful and forgiving, claims that made Sean feel a little nauseous.
There was nothing forgiving about The Jackdaw
. Again he forced himself to watch every second of the film, but this time he allowed himself some time before loading the footage of the last victim.
The final victim?

He sank back in his chair and considered the video of Goldsboro’s ordeal. It wasn’t the first time he’d watched the footage since seeing it live, but it was the first time that the fact the victim had been left hooded and gagged bothered him. The first two videos were different from each other, but he’d allowed his victims to see and be seen. Sean reflected on The Jackdaw’s words for a few seconds:
His greedy lips and deceitful eyes.
Now, seeing all the videos one after the other, it didn’t feel right. The Jackdaw wanted to humiliate his victims – wanted their humiliation to continue even after their release. But no one had seen Goldsboro’s suffering – his fall from grace – his fall from a rich and powerful man to a helpless victim. His destruction had been hidden under a cloth hood.

‘Why?’ Sean asked the room. ‘Why didn’t you want us to see the suffering on his face? Why didn’t you want his face to be shown all over the Internet – all over the world, over and over until he would barely be able to leave his house without being recognized and ridiculed? That’s what you want, isn’t it? So why spare him from public humiliation?’

A sudden sense of urgency washed over him as he leaned forward and as quickly as he could loaded the fourth video, his heart beating a little faster now, his tiredness forgotten. It began as the others had, the victim sitting taped to the chair, the hood still pulled over his head, but as the video progressed the hood and gag were removed – his fear plain for everyone to see — and he was allowed to speak, to plead his case, to try to convince the watching ‘jury’ of his innocence. So why had Goldsboro not been allowed the same privilege?

As soon as the brutal replay of Barrowgate’s suffering was over Sean reloaded and watched the video of Goldsboro again – his eyes moving from the hooded victim to the masked assailant and back – Goldsboro squirming in the chair, trying to free himself, his muffled appeals turned to distorted screams as once more The Jackdaw cut through flesh and bone to sever his finger from his hand.

‘I don’t believe what you say,’ Sean whispered. ‘If you believed his mouth was used for lies you would have cut out his tongue and cut off his lips. If you believed his eyes were deceitful, you would have burnt them out, just like you did to David Barrowgate. So why leave the hood on – why really?’

He leaned back in his chair, plucked a pencil from his pen-pot and began to tap it on his desk – its rhythm unconsciously synching to the beat of his heart as he castigated himself for failing to consider the importance of the hood not being removed before – the pure volume of mundane inquiries and administrative work the investigation had created blocking his ability to think clearly and see what sometimes existed between the lines. His mind had been so cluttered that at times he couldn’t even recognize the obvious things, let alone free his thinking enough to reach inside the mind of The Jackdaw and predict his next move or see the truth of why he did what he did. He needed to cut away the fat of the investigation and deal with the lean, crucial facts and leads. He’d seen too many detectives lose the very thing that had made them special once they became swamped under workloads and deadlines and now it had almost happened to him.

‘Did you know Goldsboro?’ he asked the screen. ‘Is that it? You knew him and he knew you – from the past. Were you afraid that somehow he’d recognize you – even through your mask and distorted voice – that he knew you so well some small thing would make him recognize you. The way you moved perhaps? Or am I just clutching at straws?’ Sean needed someone else to see what he was seeing, to tell him he wasn’t imagining it, that it was indeed something important – or that it meant nothing.

He stood and walked the very short distance to Donnelly’s office next door and leaned inside, making Donnelly break off from the conversation he was having with Zukov and look up.

‘Can I borrow you a minute?’ Sean asked.

‘Problem?’ Donnelly replied in his usual way.

‘I just need you to take a look at something.’

‘Sure,’ Donnelly answered, heaving his thick body from the small chair.

‘You found Jason Howard yet?’ Sean quickly asked Zukov.

‘He’s on the PNC as wanted,’ Zukov explained, ‘and I’ve circulated his photograph to all Borough Intelligence Units in the Met, but still nothing. He’s done a Lord Lucan on us.’

‘Find him,’ Sean demanded and headed back to his own office. Donnelly fired Zukov a quick look of irritation before following Sean next door and sitting on the opposite side of the desk.

‘So, what is it you want me to look at?’ he asked as he landed in his seat.

Sean spun his laptop through ninety degrees to an angle at which they could both see the screen.

‘This,’ he answered and pressed the play icon that started the Your View video of Jeremy Goldsboro once again.

‘Goldsboro’s video,’ Donnelly said, sounding unimpressed. ‘So what of it?’

‘Just watch,’ Sean told him, allowing the footage to play while they silently watched. After thirty seconds or so Donnelly cracked.

‘What am I supposed to be looking for?’ he asked.

‘Keep watching,’ Sean told him and let the video play for several more minutes before hitting the pause button. ‘What’s the most striking difference between this video and the others?’

‘I haven’t studied the others that closely,’ Donnelly admitted. ‘That’s being done at the lab for me – breaking it down frame by frame.’

‘You don’t need to study them closely,’ Sean argued. ‘You just need to watch and to
see
.’

‘OK,’ Donnelly played along. ‘It’s … it’s not as violent?’

‘No,’ Sean dismissed his observation. ‘Something else.’

‘Looks like the same place,’ Donnelly tried. ‘The same chair and placement of the bags over the windows and the suspect’s wearing the same clothing and …’

‘And?’ Sean pushed him.

‘And the victim remains hooded and gagged throughout,’ Donnelly finally gave him the answer he was waiting for. ‘The other victims had their hoods removed and were allowed to talk – to plead their case, so to speak.’

‘Do you think publicly humiliating them is important to him?’

‘I … suppose so,’ Donnelly agreed unconvincingly. ‘I mean possibly – or perhaps it’s just about making his point.’

‘Which is?’ Sean asked.

‘Which is the bankers screwed up and yet it seems to be the likes of you and me that are paying for it.’

‘And you still believe that?’ Sean asked; he was using Donnelly as a sounding board for his own doubts and suspicions.

‘Why not?’ Donnelly answered with a question. ‘There’s a lot of anger out there towards the sort of people he’s been taking. Why wouldn’t someone who’s a little unhinged decide to turn himself into a latter-day avenging angel? We’ll find him soon enough and he’ll be another two-time loser looking to make a name for himself. You’ll see.’

‘Maybe,’ Sean answered, blinking rapidly as he tried to keep pace with his own thoughts, ‘but this
different
treatment of Goldsboro … it just makes me feel …’

‘Makes you feel what?’ Donnelly asked.

‘Makes me feel there’s a link between him and Goldsboro – something personal between them.’

‘Then what about the other victims?’ Donnelly questioned his theory. ‘Do they have a personal link to the suspect too?’

‘Possibly,’ Sean admitted.

‘But if they are all linked to the suspect,’ Donnelly explained, ‘then the chances are they’d be linked to each other somehow, agreed?’

‘Yes,’ Sean played along. ‘That’s what I’d expect.’

‘But there isn’t a link,’ Donnelly ambushed him. ‘We’ve already checked and none of the victims know each other. They all work for different companies. Sorry. No links.’

‘Work.’ Sean seized on one of Donnelly’s words. ‘Maybe that’s the link.’

‘But like I just said,’ Donnelly reminded him, ‘they don’t work together.’

‘Not in the same company,’ Sean argued, ‘but maybe, some time in the past their paths crossed – too fleetingly for them to remember, but something that brought them into contact with either Goldsboro or the man who took them.’

‘Like what?’ Donnelly asked, his arms spread wide.

‘I don’t know,’ Sean admitted before slumping back in his chair and then immediately sitting bolt upright. ‘You said the victims don’t work for the same company now, but what about in the past?’

‘I couldn’t tell you,’ Donnelly told him. ‘Sally’s been looking after victim research.’ Sean sprang to his feet and paced to his doorway from where he shouted across the office.

‘Sally,’ he called out and waited for her to look in his direction. ‘My office please.’ He moved back inside. ‘Do we have Goldsboro’s medical evidence yet?’ he asked Donnelly while they waited for Sally’s imminent arrival.

‘You mean the statement from the A&E doctor who treated him?’

‘Yeah,’ Sean confirmed.

‘No,’ Donnelly admitted.

‘Jesus Christ,’ Sean complained. ‘Why the hell not?’

‘It’s an A&E doctor,’ Donnelly reminded him. ‘Getting a statement out of them is like trying to get blood out of a stone. What’s the urgency anyway? Goldsboro had his little finger clipped off. That’s not going to change, no matter how quickly we get the statement. What’s bothering you, guv’nor? What’s the sudden urgency for the medical evidence? It’s not going to take us any further.’

Sally strolled into the office before Sean could answer. He quickly turned his attention to her. ‘Dave says you’ve been looking into the victims’ backgrounds – in particular their employment?’

‘Well,’ Sally answered guardedly, ‘I’ve been overseeing it, if that’s what you mean. I haven’t exactly been doing it myself.’

‘Whatever,’ Sean told her, uninterested in the details of whose task it was. ‘And what have we found?’

Sally looked at Donnelly for support before answering, confusion etched on her face. ‘That they all work in the City,’ she shrugged, ‘for banks and financial institutions.’

‘I know that,’ he snapped a little. ‘What I mean is, have any of them worked together in the same company? I’m looking for a connection between them.’

‘They all worked for different companies,’ Sally explained. ‘There is no connection and Goldsboro hasn’t worked for anyone for five or six years. There is no connection between the victims. What’s this all about anyway?’

‘He didn’t take the hood or gag off Goldsboro,’ Donnelly tried to explain.

‘So?’ Sally asked.

‘So the guv’nor thinks that means he must somehow know him.’

‘I don’t get it,’ Sally admitted.

‘It’s just an idea,’ Sean answered, beginning to feel a little self-conscious.

‘Well I hate to shoot it down,’ Sally apologized, ‘but we even asked the victims if they knew each other, and they didn’t. Georgina Vaughan and David Barrowgate had apparently heard of Paul Elkins, he was a very senior and well-known figure in the City, but they don’t know him.’

‘And Goldsboro,’ Sean asked, ‘did any of them know Goldsboro or he them?’

‘No,’ Sally explained. ‘He retired too long ago for them to probably even remember him.’

‘Young blood, eh?’ Donnelly offered. ‘No time for the old guard.’

‘But did he know Paul Elkins?’ Sean persisted, refusing to let go of the feeling in his gut that at least some of the victims were connected to each other and The Jackdaw to them.

‘We asked him,’ Sally deflated him, ‘but he doesn’t know him.’

Sean slumped in his chair, drumming his fingers in thought and frustration on his desk.
What was he missing? What was he missing?
His eyes narrowed as he leaned forward. ‘How far did you go back,’ he asked Sally, ‘how far did you go back into their employment history?’

‘We didn’t,’ Sally admitted. ‘There was no need. They’ve all been with their current companies for several years, except for Goldsboro who’s retired. We just checked their current jobs.’

‘No,’ Sean almost shouted, getting to his feet. ‘We need to go back further – back through their previous jobs and even further if we have to – at least back to when Goldsboro was still working.’